


Five Places Sam Loves Gene's Podge/Size

by blueteak



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: M/M, Podge Love, Protectiveness, Size Kink, Top!Gene, Top!Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-13
Updated: 2012-02-13
Packaged: 2017-10-31 03:29:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/339382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueteak/pseuds/blueteak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All the ways Sam loves Gene's size.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Places Sam Loves Gene's Podge/Size

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt "People find Gene attractive because of how he looks, not despite it. "Chubby chaser" might overstate the case, but podge deserves appreciation."

_When it’s in front of him_

Sam’s almost always given the impression that he can go from acting perfectly collected to striking like a cobra. He’s thin, he’s wiry, he’s been fatherless from a young age, and he knows when and how to fight dirty. He’s risen through the ranks quickly, grown used to defending himself as well as his team.

Which is why he’s surprised to find himself feeling…touched? when the man he’s come to accept as his DCI steps in front of him at the Trafford Arms. 

Gene’s positioned himself, solid and scowling, between Sam and a drunken, paranoid group of football hooligan murder suspects. Sam doesn’t need him to do this, which he knows Gene knows. That’s what makes this all right. This is a DCI who’s belted him one more than once practically blocking his DI from view of an angry mob. Sam recognizes the impulse and smiles. 

_When it’s across from him_

Gene slaps his belly and belches loud enough to make the seasick psychedelic flowers on Sam’s wallpaper tremble. “Lentils that don’t taste like shite. Who knew I’d be lucky enough to have a DI who can keep dirt off the streets as well as off the legumes.”

Sam groans affectionately and gets up to clear the plates. He’s tempted to remind Gene that whoever hasn’t cooked gets cleaning duty, but he’s afraid Gene’s method of “cleaning” will involve chucking the plates out the window at the teens loitering outside. He’ll take care of this mess for now and let Gene make beans on toast tomorrow night. He can always have a nice, healthy yoghurt in the morning.

He’s on his way back to his seat when Gene grabs him by the wrist, pulling him into a kiss that tastes of whisky and some of Sam’s spices. 

Sam finds himself straddling Gene’s lap, cock poking into Gene's hard mound of belly. He loves rocking against it, the pressure and friction enough to bring him off while he's held against Gene in an unrelenting kiss. 

_When it’s under him_

Some nights that large, pert, arse is his. His to fondle, spread, spank, and fuck. Sam makes sure to do it all while he has the opportunity, has all of that randy, infuriating, larger-than-life lover of his underneath him to stroke and pull and grab.

_When it’s on top of him_

Sam never worries about Gene crushing him. Luckily, neither does Gene. Sam likes coming out of a sex haze slowly, with Gene’s weight pressing him down, continuing to hold him in place even though he’s no longer taking it. 

Gene warm on his back, breathing near his ear, steadies him, makes it seem like the act isn’t quite over even after Gene’s pulled out. 

_When it’s next to him_

Sam beams at the sight of Gene trying to make himself comfortable on the cot. Half of the sheets are on the floor and the springs seem to have some sort of grudge against him. It must still be the post-shag endorphins talking, because he can’t help thinking that Gene “loves the cop, hates the cot.” The thought of Gene actually saying it has him laughing before he can help it. 

Gene sits up and motions him over to the bed, apparently not amused. Sam walks over, still smiling as Gene pulls him down and over. Sam thinks for a minute that he’ll be getting a swat on the arse, maybe more than one, but instead of taking him over his knee, Gene’s rolled him over and onto the wet spot. Sam glares back at him. He really would have preferred a swat and Gene knows it. Bastard. But then Gene’s working some sort of magic with the tangled sheets, pulling them over the two of them before spooning Sam. With Gene’s warm bulk behind him, Sam finds he minds the chill of the wet spot much less.


End file.
